These Days
by Luna Plath
Summary: "It was the first time in his life that he would be able to have something, or someone, for himself, and that possibility scared the hell out of him."  H/G post DH.  Harry, Ron, and Hermione return to Hogwarts for their seventh year.
1. Chapter 1

AN: I haven't written any fanfiction for Harry Potter in quite a while (I was usurped by a couple of other fandoms, and college) but it is my longest lasting fanfiction interest and I have been thinking about this plotline for quite some time. As these things go I am a sucker for cannon, so please don't expect any wild pairings here. This story will be predominantly H/G with R/Hr elements here and there. I would love to hear your comments and suggestions about my work, so please leave a review.

Disclaimer: I don't own this material. It all belongs to Jo Rowling and the folks at Warner Brothers.

**Chapter One**

The Burrow had fallen into a mid-afternoon slump in activity that left the normally active household oddly quiet. Harry opened the backdoor and entered the deserted kitchen. There were a couple of pairs of trainers kicked into the corner by the welcome mat; he could decipher Ron's well worn, oversized boots and Ginny's much smaller light blue sneakers on top of the pile. Mrs. Weasley had left out some fruit and pastries on the kitchen counter in case anyone got hungry, but it was unlikely that she'd be up to cooking anything until dinner. Judging by his watch, it was only two o'clock, but Harry felt the subtle, nagging feeling of hunger in his stomach. He grabbed an apple out of the basket next to the sink and bit into its sour green surface.

It was odd to think that only a week ago he had still been after horcruxes. After Voldemort's death he had been exhausted—Madam Pompfrey had given him a generous supply of dreamless sleeping draft that he had initially taken advantage of. The first day that the public was fully aware of what had happened he had been so overwhelmed. Hundreds of owls had been sent to him, the _Daily Prophet_ had been breathing down his neck for an interview, and Kingsley had requested him to stop by the Ministry to receive his order of Merlin. After that second day Harry retreated to the Weasley's and downed more of his sleeping draft than recommended. He slept for two days, waking to Herminone and Mrs. Weasley hovering over him, shaking him awake.

"Harry, you've got to wake up," Hermione prodded, gently nudging his shoulder.

He slowly opened his eyes and immediately put on his glasses. The window had been opened; it looked to be mid-day outside.

"Are you alright dear?" Molly asked, attempting to flatten his wild hair. "It's not healthy to sleep that long. Do you feel ill? You must be starving. Let me get you some toast and pumpkin juice." She left them to scurry down to the kitchen while Hermione sat on the end of his cot.

"How long was I asleep?" Harry asked, gulping down a glass of water that had been left on his night table.

"Two and a half days," Hermione answered. "You were out for quite a while. At first we let you sleep but Mrs. Weasley started to get worried."

"I'm fine," he answered, straightening his cockeyed T-shirt that was now impossibly wrinkled. "How've you been? And Ron? I'm assuming you haven't been asleep this whole time."

"We haven't. Kingsley sent an owl with the date for the Merlin awarding ceremony. Ron and I received them as well. We're supposed to attend it tomorrow."

Mrs. Weasley emerged in the doorway with a tray laden with food of all types. Harry's throat was drier than any other time in recent memory and he went straight for the pitcher of juice she'd brought up, gulping down the cool, sweet liquid.

"I've washed and pressed your dress robes Harry, they're laid out for tomorrow," she gestured toward his nicest set of clothes that he hadn't worn in ages. "I hope you haven't grown too much since you got them," she fretted.

"I'm sure they'll be fine," Harry said. "Thank you for everything Mrs. Weasley. I'm sorry I've been so much trouble."

"What on earth are you talking about dear boy? You're no trouble at all. Don't hesitate to get more food if you're hungry. I expect Ron'll be by in a minute or two. He's helping Arthur with some things our back."

She stood and straightened Harry's bedcovers as he ate, slanting the blinds on her way out so the sunlight wasn't as direct. After Mrs. Weasley was gone Hermione snatched the bottle of sleeping draft off of Harry's night table, along with the written dosing instructions given to him by Madam Pompfrey.

"You've taken too much," she scolded, eyeing what was left of the purple substance in the vial. "It's dangerous, you know, and addictive."

"I didn't want to have any dreams," Harry explained. He finished off one plate of food and scratched the back of his neck. "If you don't mind I'd fancy a bath," he said, uncomfortable in his sleep clothes.

"Go ahead," she relented, "I'll tell Ron and Ginny that you're up."

Harry was in the doorway of Ron's bathroom, already tugging his shirt off when he called out to Hermione, "Leave that vial, will you?"

She made a noise that sounded like "humph" and left the draft and the instructions by his bedside.

"Thank you Hermione," he called out cheekily, turning on the water.

* * *

After he cleaned himself up Harry said a few words to Ron, who had finished helping his father and was now sitting rather close with Hermione under an apple tree in the garden. They invited him to sit down but Harry could tell that they'd been enjoying their time alone together. "It's alright, I'm actually going to go take a walk," he explained.

"You sure mate?" Ron asked.

"Yeah, we'll catch up later."

It was something he hadn't been able to do in so long, simply walk from one place to another by himself without being followed or dogged by other people. He thought about the summer before his fifth year at Hogwarts when he had roamed the streets around his relatives' home until late every night, simply trying to stay out of the house. In some ways those walks had been peaceful; if he could avoid Dudley and his gang of friends it had served as a good time to think and mull things over, even if those things had sometimes been unpleasant. Harry had spent the majority of his recent years in a sort of frenzied paranoia. The demand to be constantly alert of his surroundings or always trying to sort out some puzzle in his head had left him exhausted. He missed doing simple personal things like riding his broom or spending time with Ginny. Part of Harry's role as defeater of Lord Voldemort was sacrificing much of his personal life and desires. With the threat of Voldemort eradicated he was left where his life had left off. Harry had options now; he could go back to school, he could choose to take time off if he wanted, he could start auror training in a year or so, he could carry out any number of plans that he had never seriously explored until this point because of his circumstances.

There were so many things he wanted to learn now that he had the time. He wanted to become more proficient at occlumacy, animagous transfigurations, and potion making. As he thought about all of this Harry arrived at the orchard where he and Ron had played quidditch with the other Weasleys so long ago. If he wanted to be an auror he had to go back to Hogwarts in the fall. That was fine with Harry; it was almost a relief. Another year of school would give him time to catch up on everything he'd missed while he had been tracking down the horcruxes; it would buy him more time at Hogwarts before he actually had to enter the wizarding world as an adult.

By the time he had returned to The Burrow Ron and Hermione were no longer in the garden. _Probably went looking for some real privacy_, Harry thought. He took his shoes off at the door and nicked an apple. The quietness made him wonder where the rest of the Weasley's had gone. The house had been generally subdued every since their return from Hogwarts and the battle against Voldemort.

Initially, Fred's passing had been very difficult for everyone, especially George and Mr. and Mrs. Weasley. Even thought he knew it was unjustified he felt largely responsible for what had happened to Fred. Whenever Mrs. Weasley would start crying unexpectedly he felt guilty and uncomfortable. Some nights she would be cleaning up after dinner and he would hear the soft crying of a mother who had lost her son. Arthur would comfort his wife and help her out more than usual but the stress was overwhelming for Harry. He had seen and experienced enough death and loss in his teenage years to feel alienated from his peers. In some ways having the threat of Voldemort and all the riddles that went along with it had been a good distraction for his own feelings. Instead of concentrating on Sirius' or Dumbledoor's death he was able to focus all of his waking thoughts on fixing the problem. Maybe it was unhealthy, but it had led him thus far. He had survived because of his focus. He had spent so much time obsessing over murder, murders that had occurred and murders that would occur in the future, that he sometimes wondered if there was really much difference between him and Voldemort. He could imagine Hermione's voice in his head, _Of course there is, don't be daft. You're doing a noble thing._ But was he really? Yes, he wanted to protect himself and other members of the wizarding community and the only way to do that was to eliminate Voldemort completely, but his main motivating factor was his will to live and his personal hatred. Voldemort had killed his parents, his godfather, his mentor, and his friends. There was no one that Harry Potter despised more than Tom Riddle, and he had intended to kill him out of a desire for revenge.

Fear and hatred were the two emotions that had dominated his life until this point. Harry didn't understand what it was like to live without being under a constant threat; he didn't understand what it was like to experience love. What he had formed with Ginny a little over a year ago had been restricted in his mind. He was afraid of getting too close to her and turning her into a target. Voldemort had used his loved ones against him before and Harry knew that he wouldn't hesitate to do it again. Putting distance between himself and Ginny had provided an easy emotional escape for his insecurities about the relationship. Before Harry had met Ron and Hermione he hadn't known how to be anyone's anything, let alone a friend or a romantic partner, and, to an extent, he was still unsure. He had never been in a functional relationship without his fame or his personal circumstances getting in the way. Harry knew that Ginny still had feelings for him, it was understood, and he still had feelings for her, but he was afraid that his lack of experience and emotional baggage would get in the way. There were so many factors pulling him away from what he wanted that it got to be nearly impossible in his head sometimes. It was the first time in his life that he would be able to have something, or someone, for himself, and that possibility scared the hell out of him.

He got to one of the upper floors, planning to maybe go back up to the room he shared with Ron and flip through the _Daily Prophet_ or one of the defense books that Mr. Weasley had nicked for him from the auror office, but when he arrived at the landing before Ron's he stopped, pausing outside of what he knew to be Ginny's room. _There's no reason not to_, he thought, taking a step closer. _It's safe. She's not in danger anymore_. Harry was reasoning with himself, scanning through all of the possible reactions he could expect from Ginny if he initiated this. It was undeniable that he wanted her. Staring at the oak paneled door to her bedroom he could smell the light, flowery scent that he had grown to associate with her. Since they'd been together he had become more in tuned with it, the way that partners become more in tuned with each other's facial expressions or moods. He could tell if she had just left a room or if she had recently washed her hair. Harry took a step closer and brought up his hand, his knuckles white.

He quietly knocked on Ginny's door and waited, his heart speeding up with every second. It opened slightly and he could see one of her round, golden brown eyes and a sliver of her full smile. "Hello Harry," she said, widening the opening. "Come in."

It had been almost a year since he had been in Ginny's room and not much had changed. She had the same mint green bedspread with quilted pillows; her yellow ottoman was still pushed up against the window with the same silver wind chimes hanging above the sill. A pair of knitting needles and the beginnings of a black scarf sat on the end of her bed. Ginny immediately shoved her handiwork behind her back and tossed it into her basket of clean laundry. "Don't look!" She scolded.

"I didn't know you knitted," Harry said.

"Mum's been teaching me," she explained, a little sheepish that she had picked up such a girly hobby. Watching her made him smile in spite of himself, the way her eyes glanced at him and back at the floor, as if she were nervous. He wanted to run his hands over her smooth arms and feel her smile with his lips. She was beautiful and it was magnetizing.

They sat down on Ginny's bed and Harry couldn't help but notice how good she looked. He hadn't had a decent chance to look at her in a while and he felt regretful for all the opportunities he'd missed. Her wavy red hair was half up, exposing her delicate, faintly freckled ears. Ginny's brown eyes brought out the auburn undertones to her ginger hair; the focus of his gaze was probably noticeable, but he wanted it to be. She scooted a little closer to him and examined a small bruise on his cheek that had yet to heal.

"How have you been feeling? You slept for such a long time."

"I'm alright," Harry replied, happy that she was forward enough to touch him. "I don't really know how I feel. It's strange to not have anything to worry about. It's like I have my head to myself for the first time in my life."

Ginny nodded and lowered her hand. Before it could even touch the bedcovers Harry took it in his and laced their fingers together. A blush began to creep into her cheeks; she smiled at him as he pulled the young redhead into his lap. Ginny took the opportunity to burry her face in his black and gray plaid shirt, kissing the side of his neck while he stroked her hair. They sat like that for a moment, quiet, each holding their breath as if to sustain the experience. _This is wild_, Harry thought. _I'm alive and I have the girl I want. She was safe this whole time. She was safe and I get to keep her._

"I worried about you so much," she confessed. "I thought about you every night before I went to sleep and I hoped that you'd be okay." Her small hands touched his face as he leaned down to look at her.

"I thought about you too. I used to take out the Maurauders' Map and look for you to make sure you were safe. There were times when I would think of you and get really depressed because I didn't think we would both make it. Actually, I didn't think that I would make it. I figured you would have found someone else, specifically someone who didn't have a bounty after them."

"Harry, you're mad," Ginny said thickly. Her eyes looked a little watery.

"Hey," he said, cupping her face with his hand. "C'mere."

They leaned in towards each other and the world seemed to halt on its axis. _Yes, yes, yes, finally_, he thought, closing the space between them. His left arm had snaked around her, holding Ginny close to him while he pressed his lips against hers. She made a small sound in her throat that he had come to recognize despite their limited time together, sucking on her bottom lip and waiting for the moan that would follow. He had missed this. He had missed holding her against him and pleasing her and mostly he had missed their silent intimate exchanges in his bed in Gryffindor tower. Ginny pulled at the hair at the base of his neck and he kissed her harder, loving the contrast between the slight pain and the hot, electric feeling he got from her.

"Lets lay down," he suggested, pulling her onto the quilt with him. She moved as close to him as possible, sliding his leg in between hers while Harry repeatedly kissed her neck. They lay together for a while, touching each other and breathing quietly. Her hips were pressed tight against his with his hand in the back pocket of her jeans, his eyes on her lips. Harry had spent a year away from the girl he wanted and he planned on making up for it in increments like this.

They kissed each other slowly, sometimes shifting their position and talking softly. Eventually Ginny had wormed her soft hands under his shirt, her eyes glowing. "I missed you," Harry said, his voice a little scratchy. "I can't believe you waited this long."

"I don't understand why you're so surprised. I thought of you the whole time we were apart." She brushed some of his jet-black hair out of his eyes, hesitating slightly before tracing his lightning-shaped scar with her finger.

"Do you think it'll ever fade?" Ginny asked, her expression questioning.

"Probably," Harry answered. "Especially now that the spell caster is no longer alive." Pulling at the fabric of his shirt, he showed her the long, slanted gash that was slowly healing on his chest, just and inch or two above his heart. "I think his hand was shaking when he made this one," he said, pointing to his forehead, "but this time it was steadier."

She placed her palm over the spot where Voldemort had cast the second killing curse; the scar there ran the length of her hand.

Before they could say anything else the pair heard footsteps on the stairs close to Ginny's door. Harry quickly re-buttoned his shirt and sat up, attempting to make himself look presentable.

The door opened and Ron walked in a few paces, asking, "Have you seen Ha—"

"Oh, sorry," he faltered, observing Harry and Ginny sitting on the bed. "Didn't realize I was _interrupting_."

Ginny snorted while Harry raised an eyebrow. "We were just talking. You can stay if you want."

"No thanks," Ron offered, his ears slightly pink.

Hermione stepped into view from the open doorway. "Mrs. Weasley wanted me to tell you that dinner's about ready. Ronald, what are you doing?" She asked, tugging on his arm. "Give them some privacy."

He allowed Hermione to lead him out of the room. Harry chuckled as he heard his best friend explain that he had tried to, their voices growing fainter as they descended the stairs. He caught the slightly annoyed expression on Ginny's face as he helped her up.

Facing each other Harry was nearly a head taller than her. She looked up, straightening his button down and slightly, but intentionally, brushing the front of his jeans with her small, pale hand.

"I know your tricks, Ginny Weasley," he said, narrowing his eyes at the mischievous redhead. "You'll have to wait until later."

"But I want you," she nuzzled him as best she could, being so much shorter than him, her arms around his neck.

"And you think I don't?" He asked, bending down to kiss her before they went down to dinner. One of his hands rested at the small of her back, pulling her closer. Just as he'd started to slip his hand underneath her shirt they heard Mrs. Weasley calling to the rest of the household that dinner was ready.

"Later," Harry said, kissing her a few more times before they joined the rest of the family.


	2. Chapter 2

AN: Thank you to everyone who reviewed the last chapter. I definitely appreciate your comments and suggestions. If you haven't taken the time to review after reading then it would really mean a lot to me if you did so. This chapter picks up almost immediately after the first one, and I'm hoping that it will shed at least some light on the development the characters have gone through during the past year.

Disclaimer: I do not own this. It all belongs to Jo Rowling and the folks at Warner Brothers.

**Chapter Two**

Harry and Ginny entered the kitchen just as Mrs. Weasley was setting the table for what looked like more people than usual. Spotting Bill, Fleur, Kingsley, George, Hagrid, and Percy, Harry concluded that Mr. and Mrs. Weasley had planned some kind of dinner. He went to help set the table but Mrs. Weasley shooed him off. "You three musen't help," she said, pointing to Harry, Ron, and Hermione. "This is supposed to be a celebration. Sit down."

"What for?" Harry asked. "I don't mind helping, really."

"For the Order of Merlin, of course!" She piled dishes onto the extended kitchen table: roast, yeast rolls, a pitcher of pumpkin juice, treacle tart, and rice pudding, among other things.

"You heard 'er, sit down you three," Hagrid said, coming over to the end of the table where Harry, Ron, and Hermione had taken seats, Ron in between them. "You lot deserve a congratulations and a toast, if you ask me," he ruffled Harry's hair in what must have seemed like a gentle manner, but to Harry it felt like a sack of potatoes pressing down on his scalp. Hagrid chuckled and pulled out a chair that was slightly larger than the others at the table while the rest of the Weasleys and the guests sat down to dinner.

"Hagrid's quite right," said Mr. Weasley. "Glasses up," he declared, raising his goblet; the rest of the dinner-goers followed suit. "To Harry, Ron, and Hermione, the youngest recipients of the Order of Merlin in over a century." Everyone clinked glasses and offered congratulations.

Hermione lowered her cup after the toast, pausing while the others began passing plates. "This is so generous of you, Mr. and Mrs. Weasley. You didn't have to go to so much trouble."

"Its no problem dear," Molly assured her. "It was Ginny's idea, actually. She thought we all needed a bit of a celebration."

At hearing this Harry glanced over at Ginny, who sat to his right. She ignored the questioning expression on his face while cheerfully passing him the overstuffed basket of rolls. Plates and glasses clinked while a conversation developed between Kingsley, Arthur, and Percy about goings on at the Ministry.

"The war may be over, but we'll still be dealing with the aftermath for quite a while, decades, most likely," said Kingsley. "The auror's office has never been busier. And to top it off," he took a sip from his goblet, "we've been doing a major inventory of employees who are suspected of involvement with the Death Eaters. Things have become such as mess at the Department of Magical Law that they've had to resort to veritaserum for all trials."

Hearing this news didn't surprise Harry. There had been innumerable cases during the aftermath of the first war where Death Eaters had lied during court, claiming that they were under the influence of the Imperious curse during their time with Voldemort.

"Have they made any official arrests yet?" Asked Mr. Weasley.

"Not publicly," Kingsley clarified. "But we've found Rockwood and Yaxley guilty. They've hauled Dolores Umbridge in for serious questioning and quiet a few others are awaiting trial. The ministry is also attempting to regain some control over Azkaban. They've eliminated the dementors and are trying to come up with some more creative security measures."

While Kingsley, Percy, and Mr. Weasley continued to talk Harry turned to Hagrid.

"How have you been?" He asked, facing the largest of his friends.

"O, I'm alright meself. Been helpin' professor McGonagall straighten up the school before the start 'o term. You lot are comin' back, aren't yer?"

"Of course," Ron answered, biting off a piece of his roll. "What else are we supposed to do? Sit around and collect accolades?"

Hagrid chuckled at Ron's brashness. "Jus' askin'. The other professors 'ave been helpin' out quite a bit to get the school back in shape. It's been sad goin' without Fang around though."

The large, black boarhound had been fatally injured during the battle at Hogwarts. Still obviously mourning the loss of his longtime pet, he sniffed heavily at this last part, wiping his eyes on the back of one of his massive hands. Ginny finished chewing her bit of roast and looked up at Hagrid.

"You know Hagrid, we've got a muggle neighbor down the road a ways that raises boarhounds, if you wanted another one," she offered.

"That's right," Ron agreed. "Old Miss. Catenberry's got loads of 'em."

"She's always got some litter or another with that many dogs," Ginny explained. "Even as puppies they're huge."

"I've got an aunt that breeds dogs," Harry said.

"You mean the aunt you blew up summer before third year?" Ron snickered, looking down at his plate.

"Yeah, that's the one."

Hermione blanched, "Is she alright?"

"Oh yeah, she's been deflated. Doesn't even remember the incident," Harry joked.

Ron and Ginny continued to laugh while Hagrid cracked a smile.

"It's not all that funny," Hermione said darkly. "Not to mention the fact that it's illegal."

"Since when do you care about that?" Ron asked. "We did loads of things in the past year that were definitely illegal."

"Yes, but that was for something much more important. I've actually been looking into working with magical law. I think it's rather interesting."

"Well, with all the Death Eaters scurrying about for a hiding place they definitely need more people for the job," said Harry, finishing the last of his roast while Mrs. Weasley passed around a few different dishes of desert.

"Right you are Harry. Was the same way las' time. Demand was real high for people in the auror office and the department of magical law," Hagrid agreed. "What about the rest eh yer? Harry and Ron, I expect you two'll fancy bein' aurors."

"Basically," Harry said. Ron nodded while draining his goblet of pumpkin juice.

"Harry yer dad went about doin' the same thing when he was yer age but things got so bad with the war and all that he was never able ter finish trainin'."

"Really? I didn't know that," he said. Harry thought it was odd that no one had mentioned this to him before, especially when he had told Professor McGonagall that becoming an auror was his chosen career path, but there were plenty of details about his parents' lives that Harry didn't know and would probably never find out.

"Not sure what yer mum wanted to do Harry, I just remember that she was very interested in antidotes," he mused. "An what about you, Ginny? What're you plannin' on doin'?"

"I've been thinking of becoming a healer," she said as nonchalantly as possible.

Ron choked on a spoonful of rice pudding. "I thought you wanted to play quidditch? Why do you want to be a healer?"

"I wanted to play quidditch when I was eight years old. I'm nearly seventeen, in case you haven't noticed, and I'm not near good enough to make a professional team. Even if I were that wouldn't leave me very many options when I got older. Besides, it's not like I want to up and move to South America or anything, I'd just fancy a job as a healer. It's not that big of a deal."

"What do you think of this?" Ron asked, turning to Harry.

Harry's fork hung in mid-air halfway between his mouth and his plate. "If that's what Ginny wants to do then she has the right to do it," he said neutrally.

"So you're fine with her being around people with exploding insides and skin-eating purple fungus and poisonous tentacles coming out of their ears?"

"Seriously Ron, who _wouldn't_ want to be around exploding insides and skin-eating purple fungus and poisonous tentacles every day," Harry joked. Ginny and Hermione laughed at Harry's quip.

"It's not like what you want to do is particularly safe either," Ginny countered, addressing her brother. "Being an auror is quite dangerous, especially now that they'll be rounding up the last of the Death Eaters for the foreseeable future." After this she looked pointedly at both her boyfriend and her brother.

"Ginny's right," said Hagrid, "but I'm not surprised. You lot've never understood the meanin' of peace and quiet," he grumbled.

In many respects Hagrid was right. Even after everything Harry had been through since his induction into the wizarding world he still couldn't imagine himself settling for some monotonous office job. Harry liked to be in action; if nothing was happening he felt uneasy, out of his element when confronted with the mundane.

"Well, we've all got at least another year left to change our minds to something completely different," said Hermione. She began to gather her dirty dishes, rising to assist Mrs. Weasley and Fleur with the cleaning up.

"Let me help you with that," Ginny offered, standing as well.

Harry and Ron weren't quick to follow. The taller of the two boys turned to his friend, still somewhat displeased. "Do you know what they do at St. Mungo's? They look after cursed and crazy people—"

"I'm going to turn you into a cursed and crazy person if you don't stop nagging—"

"_Nagging?_ You think I'm _nagging?_"

"Oi, put a sock in it you old bats," said George. "If you'll pipe down then I'd be inclined to offer you a nightcap," he indicated to the fifth of Firewhiskey he held in his hand. Arthur, Bill, and Kingsley already had glasses; Percy declined the alcohol somewhat prudishly.

"Well since you so graciously offered . . . " said Ron.

George slid two moderately full glasses towards Harry and Ron. Judging from the name _Firewhiskey_ Harry guessed that it tasted harsher than most any alcohol he'd been exposed to. He threw back the cinnamon-loaded alcohol while Ron let the contents of his glass make contact with his mouth, unprepared for the shock of heat it emitted. Ron made a grimace similar to the one he'd made their second year while drinking polyjuice potion.

"That's disgusting."

In a sense Ron was correct. Harry supposed that no one who had any business drinking firewhiskey did it for the fine undertones of the distillery process, but instead for whatever kind of relief it offered them. After a few glasses he felt the loose carelessness that he hadn't experienced in ages. There'd been a few times when Dean, Seamus, Ron, and himself had split some whiskey way back in fifth year, and there had been times since then that Harry had nicked some of his Uncle Vernon's rum for him and Ron, but the strongest thing he'd had in over a year was the sleeping draft he'd taken last night.

The relaxation was strange, making him almost feel like he was floating just an inch or two above his body. The firewhiskey didn't seem to have the same effect on Ron, his ears settling into a general reddened state while he laughed much more easily than he had in the past six months. The bottle that George had brought had a woman with great, fanning orange hair on the label. Despite the alcohol making his vision a bit blurry, Harry could make out the slight formation of freckles across the whiskey-girl's nose and cheeks. When Ginny sat next to him on the couch, a glinting look in her eye, he pointed to the bottle.

"There you are," he said, the odd feeling of dissociation making the room appear as if it was at a bit of an angle.

Her inquisitive brown eyes caught his. "How much did you drink?" she asked, her brothers laughing boisterously while Mrs. Weasley instructed Fleur on how to knit a proper jumper.

"Not much," he answered. "I expected to feel a bit off. I slept for just over two days."

Grinning to herself, Ginny breathed, "I can't believe you compared me to the woman on the firewhiskey bottle."

"Why?" he chuckled.

"Because my mum always told me she was a scarlet woman, and that I should try not to be like her," she giggled.

"But you _are_ a scarlet woman," he teased, his eyes on her freckles and rich red hair. Ginny blushed and looked down at the carpet, hiding her approval of his odd compliment while Fleur shot her a knowing look from her spot on the settee.

* * *

"C'mon!"

Ginny looked back at him as they ran through the forest behind the Burrow, her red hair flying behind her like the plumes of a phoenix, laughter in her voice as Harry gained on her. The warm afternoon sun flashed by in yellow patches, peaking through the green leaf-cover above them. Ron and Hermione were just behind them, crashing through the underbrush as they raced towards the creek that the Weasley children had spent so much time in during their younger years.

"We're almost there," she promised, panting but too proud to slow down. Harry ran alongside her, stripping off his T-shirt just before the pair of them jumped into the creek that ran through the woods.

"Ah!" Ginny yelled, spitting water out of her mouth while Harry laughed, droplets of riverwater clinging to his glasses. Ron launched himself in after Harry and Ginny, sending a wave of clear water over their heads. Hermione hesitated in her jean shorts and sneakers, standing by the water's edge.

"Get in, why don't you!" Ron shouted, treading water. "It's bloody hot outside."

"I can't swim!" She explained, holding her arms self-consciously.

"Neither can I," joked Harry. "But it's such a relief that I'm willing to risk drowning. You should be too."

Ginny giggled while Hermione shed her shoes and socks, caving to the chorus of encouragement from her friends. "If I drown my conscience will rest on you three," she said darkly, edging into the water.

"C'mere, you'll be fine," Ron assured, reaching out for her while standing on the riverbottom with the tips of his long feet.

Harry shook his hair like a wet dog, splattering Ginny with water. She splashed him in return while Hermione tried to carefully hold her head above the river's unsteady surface, if her hair got wet it'd be in ruins. The unusually sweltering heat had driven the four teenagers into the water instead of resting in the house and being fussed over by Mrs. Weasley, who had taken to fanning herself with a dog-eared copy of _Witch Weekly_. It was only the first day after the Order of Merlin ceremony and there was already a gossip article about the "young red-haired Weasley girl" that had been seen with Harry Potter as he received his award. The article also claimed that thousands of young witches would be going into mourning over the loss of "England's most eligible young wizard" to the fiery seventh year girl.

Mrs. Weasley had saved the clipping, it being the first news photograph of Ginny that had ever been taken, apart from the family picture the _Prophet_ had printed when they went to Egypt. "It's a lovely picture, even if the article's rubbish," Molly had defended. The clipping of Harry standing hand in hand with Ginny as they exited the ministry was now tacked up above Mrs. Weasley's ironing board, along with a wedding picture of Bill and Fleur and a snapshot of all the Weasley children when they had been much younger. Harry hadn't intended to show off their reformed relationship so quickly but it had seemed very important to him at the time to grab onto Ginny's hand, as if she were the only thing to ground him from the dizzying rush of ministry officials and flashbulbs. Everyone in the Weasley family was taking it much better than they had taken Ginny's other relationships, and that was enough to quell the slight worry fluttering around in Harry's mind, at least temporarily.

After lazily floating on the water's surface for a while Ginny treaded over to the shallows with Hermione, resting while Harry and Ron waged some kind of mock-fight in the deeper part of the stream. Splashing and dunking each other beneath the surface, the two boys appeared years younger then eighteen.

"Can you believe they're not actually seven?" Hermione asked rhetorically, resulting in a chuckle from Ginny.

"OUCH! My scar!"

The color drained out of Ron's face as he immediately let go of Harry. "Sorry mate, I didn't mean to—"

His words were cut off as Harry, laughing, tackled his friend into the water. Ron emerged red and puffed up like a bullfrog.

"Got you," the darker of the two boys grinned, aware that his friend would most certainly get him back.

"You shouldn't joke like that!" Ron swore, making a grab for Harry's ankle as to drag him under.

"You're just sore because he fooled you," said Ginny, Hermione giggling from the sidelines.

Ron scowled darkly in their direction. "Don't make me drag you two into this," he warned, brandishing a pointed finger at the girls.

Neither took his threat seriously, chuckling in the warmth of the summer afternoon while a wind picked up, cooling the blistering heat at long last. Harry and Ron wrestled around with each other in the water for another twenty minutes or so, releasing the tension that had built up during their morning tea with Mrs. Weasley, each of them wanting to pair off but fearing the supervision that would ensue. Eventually they'd agreed on a trip to the river to cool down, and after wallowing around in the water for a bit the four teenagers were forming similar schemes in their minds, searching for an out to the group dynamic.

Letting her hair dry in the sticky, weighted air, Ginny bit her lower lip, her tawny eyes following Harry in the water. For someone who didn't know how to swim he managed okay, having tossed his glasses on top of his discarded T-shirt after they'd proved useless in the slow moving, murky stream. Harry had filled out in the sense that there was _more_ of him than she was used to seeing, there was definite muscle in his upper body, but he still looked underfed and eerily pale in the leaf-filtered light. It was a look that she had seen before, Ginny realized, but she couldn't place it. Watching him indirectly wasn't sufficient; eye contact was necessary to discern the look she was thinking of. It was hungry and slightly questioning; it wasn't blatant, but covert, almost subtle enough to be ignored on first inspection but persistent enough to stick in her mind. It was a look that she thought she might have seen in Sirius during the time she had known him and, more recently, Ginny suspected she'd seen it in George.

After some time the two boys paddled their way over to Ginny and Hermione, breathing heavily and warming under the now slanting sunlight. It was later in the afternoon by an hour or so and, judging from the look Harry issued her, Ginny was in favor of the pairing off option. They hadn't had any time alone together since the day before yesterday in her bedroom, before dinner, before the Order of Merlin ceremony. It had been difficult to talk privately while her whole family had been underfoot, issuing Harry, Ron, and Hermione congratulations while the press hounded the three of them before and after the ceremony. She licked her lips and took Harry's hand under the water.

"Do you want to go dry off?" Ginny asked, directing the question only to the dark haired boy in front of her.

"Yes," he answered, shooting Ron a furtive look that communicated the _only us_ intention of Ginny's question.

Picking up on this, Hermione said, "I think Ron and I will take a walk." She began to wade out of the stream, a slight tan lighting the exposed back above her camisole.

"See you guys at dinner," replied Ron, loping out of the riverbank while Harry and Ginny crept a little deeper into the forest, their hands intertwined.


	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer: I don't own this. It all belongs to Jo Rowling and the movie folks at Warner Brothers.

Author's Notes: There will be at least one more chapter following this one, but we're getting close to the end of this little ficlet. This will soon be my first (completed) chapter story for the H/G pairing, and I'm pretty pleased with the outcome. In any case, I'd appreciate some feedback on this chapter and my portrayal of the Harry/Ginny relationship. Have I done them justice? Is there anything I could improve on? I always value constructive criticism, so please leave a review.

* * *

**Chapter Three**

Following Ginny through the young forest, Harry had the sense that they were the only people in the world. They were surrounded by arching, towering trees, patches of grass and wildflowers, and faintly pink Scottish heather.

Ginny seemed to know her way around the barely discernable paths, and he tried to match the careful grace that she exuded while scampering over rocks and fallen logs. The burgeoning sounds of life within the trees and underbrush reminded Harry of the Forbidden Forest, but much tamer. Muted, almost.

As if sensing his curiosity Ginny addressed him, "We haven't got too many animals here, just your typical birds and a couple of kneazles, but sometimes I swear I've seen an augurey or two."

She settled on a patch of grass underneath an oak tree, spreading her damp hair out to dry in the fragmented sunshine. Harry joined her on the thick bed of grass and removed his glasses, closing his eyes.

The sun felt pleasantly warm on his drying skin, and he was briefly reminded of the first time he had ever kissed Ginny at the end of his sixth year.

Blinking, he turned to her, his green eyes unfocused.

"Hi."

He could practically hear the smile she wore. Ginny plucked his glasses from the soft earth and placed them crookedly on Harry's nose. "Hi," she replied.

Chuckling, he righted his frames and grasped her hand. "I can't tell you how long I've wanted to do this," he confessed, rubbing his thumb in circles along the inside of her palm.

"I'm sure you've wanted to at least as long as I have," she said softly, and Harry was reminded of the feelings she had harbored for him long before he'd become aware of his own.

She held his hand up to her cheek, her large brown eyes searching his face.

"What are you thinking?" Ginny asked, the freckles across the bridge of her nose highlighted after only a few days in the sun.

"I'm thinking that this is a dream and that soon I'm going to wake up and it'll just be me and Hermione again, digging through bushes and muggle gardens for food. I'm thinking that you are too beautiful to be a real person, and that you must be a hallucination, or an idea that Voldemort has put in my head to lure me into doing something stupid. I'm thinking that I'm very glad I didn't stop and talk to you on my way to the forest, because if I had, I don't think I would have been able to do what I had to do. I would have missed you too much."

She nodded, not entirely surprised by what he was saying. "Well, I'm thinking that I would rather like to kiss you, if that's okay."

Harry smiled, a true, glorious, uninhibited smile. "That's okay by me."

* * *

Later that evening Charlie was downstairs with her parents talking about Romania, Hermione was curled up in the den with a rather large arithmancy book, Ron was listening to George talk about Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes and how he didn't want to move the apostrophe on the sign, and Ginny was forming a plot to lure her boyfriend upstairs.

She drifted over to him, pretending that she was drying some dishes while he made a cup of tea. "Come upstairs with me," she said, subtle enough that her parents, now sitting in the back garden with Charlie, hadn't overheard. Mrs. Weasley had left the back door to the kitchen open to let in some cool air, and Harry took caution in replying.

"They won't notice?" He nodded his head towards her older brother, a healing burn mark on the older Weasley's upper right arm.

"'Course not," she scoffed. "I'm good at sneaking."

Harry did his best to stifle his knowing look and gulped down some of his tea before following her up the old, beaten-in staircase. After spending so many summers and holidays at the Burrow he had figured out which places on the stairs creaked louder than others, and who was more likely to pay attention to the noise.

With Mr. and Mrs. Weasley outside (drinking elfwine, no less) Harry thought them unlikely to be apprehended.

They were back in her room with the mint green bedspread and the wind chimes that glittered and hung silently, casting shadows on her walls.

She offered him a blushing smile that he hadn't seen on her in years, like a flower that remained closed all season long, opening just before the stifling heat of summer.

Harry took a few steps toward her and she reached up a small, soft hand to brush his hair out of his eyes.

"Your hair is getting so long," Ginny said thoughtfully. "You look like Bill."

"Yeah," he ruffled the back of it in a nervous gesture. For some reason their closeness was different from the contact they'd had that afternoon, or a few days before. "I just haven't had time to cut it."

She nodded, her round brown eyes searching him. They were so close now that he could count her freckles. Oddly, they reminded him of constellations, a pattern that grew brighter or subtler depending on the season.

She took his hand and, for some reason, Harry had the distinct sensation of a burning excitement forming in his lower abdomen. He pulled her to him and wrapped his arms around her waist, meeting her warm mouth with his own.

Ginny broke away from him to quietly shut her door, deliberately turning the lock.

He could tell that, this time, it was different. This was not like the gentle kissing they had done in the forest this afternoon or the emotionally charged reintroduction they'd shared before his Order of Merlin ceremony—this was something akin to swallowing a large gulp of firewhiskey or pulling out of a Woronski Feint just in time to hear the roar of the crowd thundering in his ears.

_This_ was what Fred and George had lectured Harry and Ron about in their fourth year, explaining that, when a girl had made up her mind, she'd do something to show her permission, some implicit act that you had to catch if you wanted what she was offering. Harry had never realized that the so-named "implicit act" would be so obvious.

She had made up her mind, and he was undeniably grateful for that.

Harry took her face in his hands and leaned down to kiss her. His pressure on her mouth was insistent, tugging on her lower lip and sweeping his tongue in as her lips parted.

There was an intent behind his actions that Ginny hadn't been exposed to before, not in their make-out sessions up in Gryffindor tower or the snags of closeness they'd shared during the ten minutes between classes. She remembered Harry pulling her close and opening a door to a passageway that had, until then, been unknown to her, and wordlessly pressing her against the wall, kissing her and holding her so tightly that she felt weightless, like she was floating in a sea of warm water. In silence and physicality he'd shared more with her than she had ever expected.

The Harry from her dreams had never been so blatantly affectionate, so open with her—with little Ginny Weasley—no one compared to the rest of her siblings.

He held her close to him while slowly tugging her floral camisole over her shoulders, his fingers tracing a light, blazing path across her chest. She was thrown back to the end of her fifth year, his sixth, when he'd undressed her for the first time and she'd seen the want in his eyes, the possessive ownership.

For years she had belonged to her brothers, her father, her family—and for the first time she belonged to a real man, a suitor.

Ginny sucked in a breath and looked down, focusing her shaking hands on undoing the buttons to the white Oxford shirt he'd changed into for dinner. It was like one of her private dreams exemplified, breathing, real—Harry letting her undress him. Harry sucking on the joint between her neck and her shoulder. Harry running his hands through her hair and not shying away when their hips met, reaching out to cup her breast over her underclothes.

Feeling lightheaded, she pushed the linen dress shirt off his well-formed shoulders, amazed at the physical changes he'd undergone in just a year. In the light from the summer moon she could see a brightness in his green eyes that she had only observed in moments like this, intensity reserved for her alone.

The slightly rough way that he held her to him made her spine tingle, the sensation reaching down into her arms and legs and rooting deep in her chest. It was happening. After so much time worrying over his safety and feeling forgotten and useless like a princess locked in a tower—after everything—Harry still wanted her. The weight of that idea was more than she could acknowledge.

Wearing less clothing than before, she pulled him to her twin bed, startled by the feeling of the time-worn fabric on her bare chest and legs. Ginny leaned into the feeling of Harry's body so close against hers and exhaled sharply.

Their eyes met for a moment, the second stretching on and on between them like a golden cord linking them together.

"I love you."

The statement hung in the air around them, charged and bursting with meaning, mingling with the poignant exhale he issued. Harry looked at her in the most unguarded way he could muster, the mixture of emotions on his angled face all too apparent to the red haired girl beneath him.

Wrapping his arms around her, he confessed, "Ginny, I . . . I don't know how to say that."

Again, she nodded, her mane of orange hair spread out over the pillow like a priceless fabric. "It's okay, Harry. You don't have to say anything."

Frustration escaped his quickly forming words, "But I want to be able to tell you—"

"Show me," she pleaded, her tawny eyes rimmed in flecks of gold. "I want to know."

He kissed her again, this time more urgently than ever before. Like a boy who had never know love, but desperately wanted to experience it. Like a declaration ringing hard against her eardrums. Like a drowning man clinging to her more tightly than she could ever comprehend.

Slowly, he removed her hand-me-down shorts and lacy knickers. She was more beautiful than he had ever expected.

* * *

With her hips aching in a blissful, gratifying way, Ginny stared at the slope of Harry's jaw, at the sinewy muscles in his neck and shoulders. His eyes were closed but he was turned toward her, breathing softly into her hair.

She was so focused on his peaceful expression that it startled her when he spoke.

"No one's ever said that to me before," he confessed, opening his eyes to peer at her in the pseudo-darkness. "I was just . . ."

She held out her hand to his smooth cheek, silencing him with a thoughtful look. "I don't expect you to have all of your emotions figured out. I know you, Harry, and I know what you've been through. You don't have to make any excuses for yourself because I already understand. It's okay. It doesn't hurt my feelings and it won't create any problems between us. I understand love because it has always come easy to me. I have a whole family that loves me, and parents—but you're different. I don't want you to apologize for being who you are."

He kissed her neck over and over, stopping to look up at her with something in his eyes that hadn't always been there: happiness, reaching to her in the darkness like a plea.

_Please let her be real_, Harry thought, his hand trailing the hourglass-shaped dip that stretched from her bare hip to her waist. _Please let me have this one thing as my own_.

He had spent so many nights thinking of her in nameless terms, dreaming of redheads with her freckles and her laughter and her big brown eyes. Ginny waiting for him in the shower; Ginny naked beside him in bed; Ginny warm and sleeping when he got up in the morning and cooking when he got home at night.

Desire coiled in him like a copper snake, striking when he was tired enough to allow it. The feeling—the sensation of heat all in his limbs and a sharp prickling way down in his stomach—was more intense than he had realized. It became a part of him almost as completely as the injustice of everything had become a part of him.

"Thank you," he said, his dark eyes trained on her face, lips a soft, pink bow. "Thank you for that."

He pulled her to him, the feeling of her bare chest against his striking and so comforting that he could hardly imagine letting go. Ginny kissed his cheek, her fingers fisting themselves in the shaggy hair at the nape of his neck.

"You're welcome," she whispered, and he could hear the smile in her voice.

Getting the girl was almost as important as slaying the dragon or defeating his mortal enemy, he decided; without her the story would never be finished.


End file.
